


Worse Than Nicotine

by jessythewriter



Series: Sherlock's Vices and John's Virtues [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottom John Watson, Drug Addict Sherlock, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Panic At The Disco (Band), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Smut, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7713298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessythewriter/pseuds/jessythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does one define a drug addict?</p><p>Is Sherlock Holmes a drug addict?</p><p>Should addiction be as beautiful as this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worse Than Nicotine

**Author's Note:**

> Nicotine  
> Panic! At The Disco  
> 3:06  
> Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die! (2013)  
> Brendon Urie, Dallon Weekes, Amir Salem  
> Decaydance, Fueled by Ramen

Do you what it really feels like being an addict?

Do you?

Well, aside from morphine and cocaine, which are two of my most favorite (and since because they are always the ones readily available), the one substance that defines my addiction, is nicotine. As I’ve always reiterated, nicotine has been my friend for many years. Since I learned how to smoke, eventually nicotine became a part of my life, in all of its forms: from cigarette, gum, to patch. It has been my companion, both at home and in some of my cases.

But not until he arrived, when he invaded the sands of Baker Street. Claiming as a doctor, he embargoed all of my drugs, and of course, kept all of my nicotine. Said it was bad for my health, especially since I am not the “eating type” of person, which I always reminded him that transport is really, really tedious. But he does not listen to me. He just doesn’t, at all.

Currently the role of nicotine in my life has currently reduced to the lowest percentage. Not because he hid them away from me, but because instead of nicotine playing the character of my companion, that person filled the role, as if kicking the drug out of the play. Instead of Mycroft finding me alone inside my flat smoking one pack for a night, he was there, to accompany me in my nightly conversations. And instead of having a number of patches stuck into my arm, he was there, listening to every one of my deductions.

So now you might be thinking that because I had a _flat mate_ , no a _colleague_. No, no, a _friend_ that has always been there for me, I stopped being an addict. That’s where you are wrong.

_He burned my lungs and cursed my eyes._

One night when I was staying up late for my cases, my whole body was just covered with a white sheet as I stared the wall of clippings of evidences. Apparently, I did not realized that I fell asleep, that the sheet was not doing the task he was supposed to do, to cover my whole naked body.

Suddenly I felt something hot down my pelvis, as if there was a sticky, wet fluid that’s been leaking out of me. When I woke up, I tried to refocus my eyes to see the reality of the situation. It was him, my dear flat mate, sucking my growing length in his mouth.

I couldn’t focus. My brain was still registering what I saw. The flat mate which told me to stop using drugs, the one who accompanied me in my cases, my blogger, is now fully dazed, as he kept on sucking my penis, like a child playing with a lollipop or an ice cream.

“Sherlock, y-you’re awake?” He finally said. It appears that he savored the taste of the pre-ejaculate from my cock before he realized that I was looking at him, appalled. It was also then that I realized that he was not wearing anything from his hips down, so his cock was also shown to me gloriously, and his top, was my purple long sleeved shirt, which sent an amount of dopamine and oxytocin.

My cheeks felt hot. His eyes were hesitating to continue, still like a child who just broke his mother’s vase. But I sense in him that he was not yet fulfilled. He needed more.

And fuck, I needed more.

“Suck me.”

Those were the only words I’ve said to him: my throbbing hard cock in his hot wet mouth. God! His mouth was made for this! I can feel his tongue running in my length. How can he do this… marvelous thing?

“You like it so much don’t you?”

He answered a yes, but the vibration of his throat sent a spike to my prick. This. I can’t get enough of this.

I always believed that sex is just a normal activity for animals, but is more expressed by human beings. It is a symphony of chemicals, a network of neuronal signals, of surging hormones, a normal reaction of the human body. Of course, I’ve tried touching myself, but that was ages ago where maturity was still sinking.

And of course, I find normal human beings boring.

But him, he was not ordinary.

I pulled him, and he faced me forward. Now he was on top of me, and I can feel his growing cock in my abdomen. I sensed he wanted this. And him, I wanted him.

I flipped him over, and now I’m on top. I looked at him and saw a wonderful specimen, a paradigm of an experiment that would be conducted by me, and me only. I kissed him hungrily, as I was lured in this beautiful creature right before me.

 _I tasted him on my lips and I can't get rid of him._  
  
Like nicotine, I enjoyed his scent. He smelled of his favorite jasmine tea and I’ve always wondered what it tastes like. Now I get to know it by tasting him. I run my tongue on his clavicle, then to his neck, back to his lips and yes, he is amazing.

 _I've lost control and I don't want it back._  
  
Like nicotine, touching him and making him moan was heaven. It was like being invincible, to be the only one who can do this to him. That in every groan and “Sherlock” that I hear was equivalent to a priceless reward. No one can do this to him, no one but me.

_I'm going numb, I've been hijacked._

Like nicotine, the effects of being inside his mouth-watering arsehole made me feel dizzy and light-headed. I can feel the sweat running in my back as I fucked him right in that sweet spot that he wantonly desired. As I slammed into him, his cock slams back in my abdomen again and again and again and God, I love it! I love him!

Like nicotine, the aftermath of this lustful event is sinful yet satisfying, as I filled him with a load of semen as I came inside him. There were no regrets that I did this. Panting, I kissed his mouth again, because simply, I can’t get enough of him.

“Sherlock… That wasn’t supposed to be…” he said catching his breath.

“Who’s the addict now?” I said jokingly, as I bit his earlobe.

He smiled, and then laughed at me.

An addict. That’s what they used to call me. Now, they don’t because they believed that I’ve changed, that he changed me. But you see, this is where they are wrong. This is where all of you are wrong. Because an addict will always be an addict.

And me? Of course I’m still addicted, to John Watson.

Because John, he’s worse.

_Worse than nicotine._


End file.
